


Inedible

by derangedduck



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Food is People, Gen, Psychic Abilities, Sickfic, Will Graham Has Encephalitis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 05:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10299170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derangedduck/pseuds/derangedduck
Summary: Will Graham supposedly worked from pure empathy and an abundance of imagination, but as encephalitis takes its toll, it becomes apparent that things might not be that simple. (And maybe Will's just a little bit psychic.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tiny little snippet just because I was sitting there thinking, "Hannibal loves to wind up Will and watch him go, and finds his abilities fascinating, but what if Will were actually psychic - would it still be fun when Will started dredging up the Greatest Hits of Hannibal's Traumatic Childhood?"
> 
> ...And then it turned out I had no idea, so that was the end of the ficlet.

Will’s body feels thick and heavy with sickness, his head giving off bright flares of pain whenever he turns too quickly. He wants to crawl out of the miserable shell of his body to somewhere he can’t feel it anymore.

He’d called Hannibal to cancel their appointment – he was in no state to make the drive, and didn’t think he’d make any sort of progress or insight about himself or his work while reduced to the animal simplicity of his fevered body.

He’d been debating the merits of extricating himself from his sweat-damp tangle of sheets to get a drink when the knock came. He lurched out of the bedding towards his door, distantly curious as to his visitor’s identity. He fumbled the door open to reveal Hannibal waiting patiently on the porch.

“But… I called you?” He blurted, bewildered, “I’m – I told you, I’m sick.”

“So you’ve said. That is, in fact, why I’ve come to visit you. I wanted to see how you were doing. May I come inside?”

Will shuffled out of the doorway by way of invitation, and began wandering back in the direction of his bed, regardless of how rude it might seem – he wanted the solidity of his mattress beneath him to escape some of the slippery sideways skew of the world.

He reached his destination and burrowed immediately back under the blankets there with a shiver. He contemplated calling his dogs up for a secondary, more immediate source of warmth than the cooling damp of his sheets alone.

He glanced up at Hannibal, who’d seen fit to follow him.

“I’m cold,” Will muttered, half-defensive.

“The temperature of your house is well within a comfortable range,” Hannibal told him. “It is likely a fever, distorting your perceptions. I have brought soup for you, which I can warm for you in a moment.”

Will nodded, and immediately regretted it as the movement caused the world to swim in a great rush around him. He wondered what ‘soup’ would entail, when Hannibal introduced it properly. He huddled deeper into the blankets with a shiver, closing his eyes and listening to Hannibal’s movement in the kitchen.

Time slid sideways with everything else, and then Hannibal was coaxing Will upright from his cocoon and setting a tray Will didn’t remember owning on the bed beside him, a steaming bowl of something that smelled promising atop it.

Will made a sharp noise of distress and jerked away violently enough that only Hannibal’s reflexes saved him from falling off the bed entirely. He shuddered under Hannibal’s hands, pressing into them and as far from the soup-bowl as he could manage. He stared at it unblinking, as if it were a venomous snake he’d found sharing his bed.

“What is the matter, Will?” Hannibal asked, bemused but curious, voice carefully pitched to steady and calm, “What do you see?”

“You can’t – Hannibal, they’re _tricking you_ ,” Will hissed, hands going up to grab Hannibal’s own where they rested on Will’s shoulders.

“Who is tricking me?”

“She’s there,” Will moaned, twisting to hide his face against Hannibal’s torso, muffling his next words. “Hannibal, _her teeth are at the bottom._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> And that's all I've got. If anyone has suggestions as to where this'd go, I'd find that very interesting, since my imagination is failing me.


End file.
